Theresa answered softly. “They were sent to me.”
“By whom?” Confused, he rose from the bed.
She took a step toward him, holding out her hand. “By other people who’d found them. One of the people read my column. . . .”
“You published my letter?” He sounded as if he’d just been hit in the stomach.
She didn’t answer for a moment. “I didn’t know . . . ,” she began.
“You didn’t know what?” he said loudly, the hurt evident in his tone. “That it was wrong to do that? That this wasn’t something that I wanted the world to see?”
“It was washed up on the beach—you had to know someone would find it,” she said quickly. “I didn’t use your names.”
“But you put it in the paper. . . .” He trailed off in disbelief.
“Garrett . . . I—”
“Don’t,” he said angrily. Again he glanced at the letters, then looked back at her, as if he were seeing her for the first time. “You lied to me,” he said, almost as if it were a revelation.
“I didn’t lie. . . .”
He wasn’t listening. “You lied to me,” he repeated, as if to himself. “And you came to find me. Why? So you could write another column. Is that what this is about?”
“No . . . it isn’t like that at all. . . .”
“Then what was it?”
“After reading your letters, I . . . I wanted to meet you.”
he didn’t understand what she was saying. He kept looking from the letters to her and back again. His expression was pained.
“You lied to me,” he said for the third time. “You used me.”
“I didn’t. . . .”
“Yes, you did!” he shouted, his voice echoing in the room. Remembering Catherine, he held the letters out in front of him, as if Theresa had never seen them before. “These were mine—my feelings, my thoughts, my way of dealing with the loss of my wife. Mine—not yours.”
“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
He stared hard at her without saying anything. His jaw muscles tensed.
“This whole thing is a sham, isn’t it,” he said finally, not waiting for her to answer. “You took my feelings for Catherine and tried to manipulate them into something you wanted. You thought that because I loved Catherine, I would love you, too, didn’t you?”
Despite herself, she paled. She felt suddenly incapable of speech.
“You planned all this from the beginning, didn’t you?” He paused again, running his free hand through his hair. When he spoke, his voice began to crack. “The whole thing was set up—”
He seemed dazed for a moment, and she reached out to him.
“Garrett—yes, I admit I wanted to meet you. The letters were so beautiful—I wanted to see what kind of person writes like that. But I didn’t know where it would lead, I didn’t plan on anything after that.” She took his hand. “I love you, Garrett. You’ve got to believe me.”
when she finished speaking, he pulled his hand free and moved away.
“What kind of person are you?”
The comment stung, and she responded defensively, “It’s not what you think. . . .”
Garrett pressed on, oblivious of her response. “You got caught up in some weird fantasy. . . .”
That was too much. “Stop it, Garrett!” she cried angrily, hurt by his words. “You didn’t listen to anything I said!” As she shouted, she felt tears welling up in her eyes.
“Why should I listen? You’ve been lying to me ever since I’ve known you.”
“I didn’t lie! I just never told you about the letters!”
“Because you knew it was wrong!”
“No—because I knew you wouldn’t understand,” she said, trying to regain her composure.
“I understand all right. I understand what kind of person you are!”
Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t be like this.”
“Be like what? Mad? Hurt? I just found out this whole thing was a charade, and now you want me to stop?”
“Shut up!” she shouted back, her anger suddenly rising to the surface.
He seemed stunned by her words, and he stared at her without speaking. Finally, with breaking voice, he held out the letters again.
“You think you understand what Catherine and I had together, but you don’t. No matter how many letters you read—no matter how well you know me—you’ll never understand. What she and I had was real . It was real, and she was real. . . . ”
he paused, collecting his thoughts, regarding her as if she were a stranger. Then, stiffening, he said something that hurt her worse than anything he’d said so far.
“We’ve never even come close to what Catherine and I had.”
He didn’t wait for a response. Instead he walked past her, toward his suitcase. After throwing everything inside, he zipped it quickly. For a moment she thought to stop him, but his comment had left her reeling.
He stood, lifting his bag. “These,” he said, holding the letters, “are mine, and I’m taking them with me.”
Suddenly realizing what he intended to do, she asked, “Why are you leaving?”
He stared at her. “I don’t even know who you are.”
Without another word, he turned around and strode through the living room and out the door.
CHAPTER 12
Not knowing where else to go, Garrett caught a cab to the airport after leaving Theresa’s apartment. Unfortunately no flights were available, and he ended up staying in the terminal the rest of the night, still angry and unable to sleep. Pacing the terminal for hours, he wandered past shops that had long since closed up for the evening, stopping only occasionally to look through the barricades that kept nighttime travelers at bay.
The following morning he caught the first flight he could and made it home a little after eleven and then went straight to his room. As he lay in bed, however, the events of the evening before kept running through his head, keeping him awake. Trying and failing to fall asleep, he eventually gave up. He showered and dressed, then sat on his bed again. Staring at the photograph of catherine, he eventually picked it up and carried it with him into the living room. On the coffee table he found the letters where he’d left them. In Theresa’s apartment he’d been too shocked to make sense of them, but now, with her picture in front of him, he read the letters slowly, almost reverently, sensing Catherine’s presence filling the room.
“Hey, I thought you’d forgotten about our date,” he said as he watched Catherine walking down the dock with a grocery bag.
Smiling, Catherine took his hand as she stepped on board. “I didn’t forget, I just had a little detour on the way.”
“Where?”
“Actually, I went to see the doctor.”
He took the bag from her and set it off to one side. “Are you okay? I know you haven’t been feeling well—”
“I’m okay,” she said, cutting him off gently. “But I don’t think I’m up for a sail tonight.”
“Something is wrong, isn’t it?”
Catherine smiled again as she leaned over and pulled a small package out of one of the bags. Garrett watched as she began to open it.
“Close your eyes,” she said, “and I’ll tell you all about it.”
Still a little unsure, Garrett nonetheless did as she asked and heard as tissue paper was unwrapped. “Okay, you can open them now.”
Catherine was holding up baby clothes in front of her.
“What’s this?” he asked, not understanding.
Her face was buoyant. “I’m pregnant,” she said excitedly.
“Pregnant?”
“Uh-huh. I’m officially eight weeks along.”
“Eight weeks?”
She nodded. “I think I must have gotten pregnant the last time we went sailing.”
Hesitating from the shock, Garrett took the baby clothes and held them delicately in his hand, then finally leaned forward and gave Catherine a hug. “I can’t believe it. . . .”